Six Hours
by windorland
Summary: Hunk loves the night, because for six short hours he has Lance all to himself.


Hunk loves the night.

The night is when Lance comes, bathed in starlight. He comes quietly, slips through the halls of the castle on bare feet like a ghost, a beautiful smile on his face as he opens the door.

Hunk never dares to interrupt Lance when he's like this- he is so close, so quiet, so beautiful in the moonlight (or the closest thing they have to it on this spaceship that is far, so far from the moon they left behind), and Hunk doesn't want him to stop.

Lance follows a routine every night, the same exact one, a formula that is inscribed into Hunk's memory, etched onto his eyelids, and woven into his dreams. Lance always starts their little event, always with a caress of Hunk's face, his fingers gliding from his lightly furrowed brow to his full lips.

Hunk plays his part to a T, his eyelids flutter shut, and his arms wrap around Lance's thin waist, holding onto him like a vice. Then Lance looks at Hunk's lips, considers for a brief moment, and pulls away. Hunk hopes and prays for the day that Lance kisses him, so he can drown in those blue eyes and revel in the beauty of tan skin from closer than ever before.

But for now, this is good enough.

Lance moves with the fluidity of a mermaid, all light feathery touches against Hunk's skin, as he unbuttons Hunk's night shirt. Every time Hunk will pull back, ashamed of a gut that protrudes a little too far. But Lance follows, his lips tugged up into that mischievous smirk that Hunk adores, and they continue until Hunk collapses against his bed, and Lance climbs on top of him. Lance brushes kisses against flushed skin, and Hunk lets out this embarrassing noise when Lance nibbles his shoulder.

Soon Lance grows impatient. He admires his hard work before he pulls of his own shirt, throwing it to the side and quickly ridding Hunk and himself of their pants. He always looks in awe of Hunk's sheer size, and has taken it upon himself as his personal mission to drive Hunk absolutely insane with desire.

Lance takes his time, devours Hunk with his eyes, and the sheer hunger in Lance's eyes make Hunk feel truly naked. But Hunk would do anything, anything, if he could freeze time right at this moment, bottle up the way Lance's blue eyes make him feel, immortalize the sight of miles of tan skin that lay bare before him, and capture the way Lance's short hair feels in between his fingers.

With one quick jerk of an elastic band, Hunk is truly bared, and Lance bites his lip. He licks his lips and gives Hunk a look that asks "May I?"

Hunk grabs his hair in response, and Lance sets his jaw and takes just the head into his mouth first. He licks and sucks and bounces until Hunk is putty in his hands, a moaning mess with a complete loss of control. Just when he's close, so close, and his hands give that little tell-tale twitch that Lance takes as a fair warning, he pulls off with this glint in his eyes.

Hunk doesn't care anymore, so he has nothing stopping him from flipping Lance onto his back and pulling Lance's boxers right off his slim hips. Lance gasps (this isn't routine), but moans when Hunk's thick index finger enters him at a luxurious pace.

It's moments like this when they both forget that they don't have all the time in the world.

What they have is this six hours, just six hours, but Hunk will make the most of it.

Hunk only has Lance for the night.

There are things Hunk can ignore.

He can ignore the way waking up to an empty bed in a room devoid of blue eyes and messy brown bedhead makes him feel.

He can ignore the ease at which Lance flirts with women he's never seen before, the way he can say things with this absolute confidence in himself and his expertise that makes Hunk's veins burn with a mixture of envy and lust.

But there's this sting, every time Lance locks eyes with him and is suddenly busy, with his fingers or Keith or Pretty Alien #92.

Hunk doesn't ask for much, but he at least wants his best friend back.

Hunk wants the boy that would comment 'great ass 10/10, would eat out again' on every one of his posts. He wants the boy who would stay up late with him just so they could look at the stars even if his mind was foggy and his eyelids heavy. He wants the boy who confided his very dreams in Hunk, he wants the boy who believed in him back.

He yearns for quiet nights in a dark room, Lance's warmth pooling into his side as they watch the worst movies airing in the middle of the night.

Yet, Hunk also wants the man who can pilot a vehicle he has never laid eyes on. He wants the stronger jawline and the muscles that come from months of training. He wants the man that puts on this brave face every morning, the man that makes it his duty to cheer up everyone around him.

Hunk yearns for gentle kisses that speak of more than just passion, for Lance to confide in him once more.

For now, he has the nights to think of what could be.

Hunk defines night as the time when Lance visits. He thinks of night as the blue of Lance's eyes, as the warmth of Lance's brief embraces, as the stretch marks on his thighs that Lance is very insecure about, as the jumbled mess of words Lance always says before he comes.

Hunk defines the night as Lance.

For now, Hunk is content with what he gets. He is steadily losing patience.

Hunk loves the night.

He wishes it could last longer than six hours.


End file.
